


Bright Like Burning

by Bakagami



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, possibly platonic possibly romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakagami/pseuds/Bakagami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they meet, it's like he's been thrust into another universe, eyes open and soul bared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Like Burning

**Author's Note:**

> First piece of work for the One Piece fandom! Interpretations can swing to either platonic captain love or something more deeply rooted. Hopefully, everyone mentioned is in character. Unbeta-ed, forgive me.

Luffy is like the sun, his light shining through the beams of Zoro's haphazardly constructed shelter around his dream. 

He yields to Zoro's sword, tips his hat to each blade like they're companions, and Zoro feels the recesses of his mind stir, because _someone understands_. 

He understands each blade drawn is a drawn breath, like when he draws back his fists and pinpoints his targets. He understands each slice, whistling through the air, is a heartbeat, like when he gatling guns down each opponent. He understands the sheathing of swords is a promise, like when he leaves Nami with his hat and Robin with his trust and the crew with his heart.

Sometimes, Zoro looks around and watches Chopper and Brook bicker with Usopp, Sanji fawn over Nami, Robin entertain Franky. He watches Luffy laugh and watches his gaze gleam, happy and carefree and full of love. Thinks of blooming snow and lying storytellers, of dark pasts and hurting souls. 

Zoro doesn't reminisce, but if he did, he'd recall the first step onto that shaky boat, after days of radiating heat and not much else. It wasn't much, but one look into Luffy's eyes hoisted the anchor and pushed them off the dock. 

He remembers, in the very beginning, thinking, _who the hell is this kid?_ and switching to _unshakable, unstoppable, invincible_ without hesitation, with conviction.

When he's on his back, bleeding out, he shouts Luffy's name into the sky, holds his pride and joy in the air. He pledges his dwindling life, his gushing blood, his quaking bones; he pledges his whole being to the Future Pirate King.

Some say it's because he's a monster, others say it is out of blind faith—he says, _fuck you,_ because his captain is Luffy and Luffy keeps his promises, head high, eyes burning. He declares war and brushes ashes off his skin, simmering with truth and clarity. So when he says he's going to be King, no one can deny him—no one can be bothered to when his voice reverberates down to their very cores and back up to grip their guts in anticipation.

Hopes and dreams and friendships are all forged onto his small rubber back, weaved through the threads of his clothes. They flutter behind him like an all-encompassing cloak, spun with each inspiration-drunk islander and reluctantly respectful officer. He already has them bowing their heads in inclinations of acceptance, of happiness, of knowing. 

Luffy conquers nothing, yet conquers all, rambunctiously settling himself within those sometimes unwilling. It's ridiculous but fitting; no one else would have the ability to maintain such a crew of misfits. They're all broken and ragged inside, but Luffy pieces them together and lets them breathe, lets them live. He lets them stand beside him, wind caressing their faces, salt seasoning their skin.

It's difficult, to find a group of people who will die for their captain—it's even harder to find one who will live for him. A group who will claw their ways to each other, screaming, bitter, fearful. A group who will demand each other to live, to get away, to find themselves back together, time and time again. 

Nearly insane, a bystander determines in horror. Zoro wants to laugh because _we're_ all _insane here._ Instead, he stands strong and it's everything _but_ sacrifice—it's fondness, fierce protectiveness. 

Zoro has already vowed and this is nothing, if he can't do this, he's not worthy of being the World's Greatest. If he can't do what his captain is incapable of doing, he is nothing. He hears the sheer agony that rips from his captain's throat, like someone is being flung into the afterlife, and he thinks, _I'm sorry_.

When he comes to, he's in desolation, and he's alone. He's gotten so used to the lull of the waves and the muffled snoring that he closes his eyes for a moment, imagines what it'll be like when he gets back. He _needs_ to get back—Luffy has spoiled him—there's no other place to return to. The crew, he admits to himself, they're family, they're _home_.

And there's no where else in the world he would be.

Zoro is determined to set out, to search. He opens up wounds and strains his every muscle—until he receives his orders. Two years. Two years, he must wait, he must deny every fiber of his being. He must stand by as his captain is torn apart and must stand by to watch his captain wage war without them, without _him_.

Realizing what he must do is only half the battle when he thumbs the newspaper clipping; it's solemn and heartbreaking and he _can't see Luffy's eyes (no, no, please don't, please hang on, I'll be right there)._  

He drags himself, bloodied, bruised, and grovels at the feet of his goal, swallowing his pride and shoving back his instincts, because he knows this is the only way. For two years, Zoro pushes himself until he can no longer move, and then shakily stands up again, baring his teeth and ready to go.

He looks death straight in the eye and snarls, _try me_. 

After the commandment time comes to an end, Zoro finds himself back on that archipelago first, much to his amusement. He dangles the fact over shitty cook's swirly eyebrows and sits back, waits. Patience is something he's learned, after countless days of wrapping bandages around himself and scrounging for fresh meat before every meal.

The Pacifista doesn't even serve as a warm up and something settles inside of his chest when he watches Luffy proclaim what will soon be the inevitable. He lets his eyes rove over the scars marring Luffy's skin, over his callused palms, over his strengthened resolve and confident air. He doesn't let himself feel guilty, because he knows they're all necessary, just as his eye aches and fingers twitch.

Later, when they're all situated, finally surrounded by the deep ocean, they encounter their first skirmish and Zoro can feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, waiting to be unleashed. Luffy steps forth and he feels wavering wills, enemies dropping like flies—he feels a bit of awe, and contentment. So Zoro bundles up all his awaited anticipation and surges on, throwing out endless havoc and enjoying every moment of it.

He fights along his crew members, pushing and pulling, creaking like old gears clicking into place, now well-oiled and more refined. Their fight mirrors an elaborate dance, steps like inhales and twirls like assaults. In a word, it's beautiful.

Before their departure, Zoro watches Luffy exchange hostilities with one of the biggest forces known to exist and does nothing to stop him. (He knows, in time, _they_ will be the names uttered in trepidation, in admiration, in glory.) All he can do is sit back and follow his captain, across the seas, through the universes—to the New World. When Sunny's sails catch the wind, Zoro settles in his no-longer worn spot on deck, and looks on as Luffy slowly knits their gnawing wounds together, one smile at a time.

Luffy is like the sun, and Zoro can't think of anything that he's ever seen to be brighter.


End file.
